I Was Afraid to Ride The Dragon and Always Wound Up in the Duck

I finally told someone about my coin-operated childhood trauma

It made this wimpy little quack and hardly moved at all… Illustration: Mark Armstrong

I’m 31 years old. I finally decided to talk to a therapist.

When I’m lying on her couch, I’m 3-years-old again. It all comes rushing back like it was yesterday.

I’m at the grocery store with Mom. I’m riding around in the cart while celery and mushroom soup and SpaghettiOs pile up around me.

Finally we’re done and out where the rides are. There are only two of them: a stupid yellow duck and the biggest, meanest, scariest-looking dragon you ever saw. I almost wet my pants just looking at it.

“Would you like to try it?” asks Mom. “I could lift you up.”

I shake my head and say, “Maybe next time.” Then I get in the duck and Mom puts in the quarter, and I sit there humiliated while the duck makes this wimpy little quack and hardly moves at all.

And you know the worst part? Some other kid always shows up and rides the dragon, and it roars and spits fire, and I can feel the sparks burn my neck.

“It sounds very upsetting,” said the therapist.

I shrugged. “I guess it was just pretend fire and smoke, but it seemed so real. I told Mom there…